Page 76 of Hate That Blooms

I look at myself one last time in the mirror. I’m nervous, but in a good way. My hair’s down in soft waves, the makeup minimal but just enough to make me feel a little more put-together than usual. I take a deep breath, grab my purse, and head for the door.

“Almost,” I call back, walking toward him.

Joaquín is standing by the front door, dressed in a crisp shirt and dark jeans, looking like he’s ready for a night out. His smile when he sees me makes my stomach flip—he always looks at me like I’m the only person in the room. It’s one of those little things that never gets old.

“Wow,” he says, eyes widening as he takes in my dress. “You look stunning.”

I laugh softly, feeling my cheeks warm. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

He grins, stepping forward and offering me his arm. “Shall we?”

We step out into the cool evening air, the smell of the city still sharp and fresh from a quick rain earlier in the day. The car ride to the restaurant is easy—the quiet comfort that we’ve settled into over the last few months. It’s not a silence that’s awkward—it’s the silence that comes from knowing someone so well that words aren’t always necessary. We’re content in each other’s presence, and I can feel the connection between us like a low hum.

Joaquín and I are still in that honeymoon phase of being together where the minutes were apart feel like hours and complete agony. Where sex is almost daily and never boring. Though I’m not sure if it will ever be boring per se. I can’t get enough of him and we have years of loving to catch up on.

The restaurant we chose is a small, family-owned Mexican place just outside of town, with a warm, inviting atmosphere that’s always bustling with life. Colorful tablecloths and small potted plants adorn the tables. As we walk in, the smell of sizzling fajitas, grilled meat, and spices fills the air. I feel a grin tug at my lips. This place feels like somewhere my mom would tell me to take him to for his birthday. An intimate place where you can just focus on each other, a place that feels like home away from home.

We’re led to a table on the patio, a small, cozy area strung with twinkling fairy lights. The evening is warm—the breeze carrying the sound of a live band setting up in the corner of the patio. They’re tuning their instruments, getting ready to play salsa and cumbia, and the energy of it all makes my heart beat a little faster.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long,” I say, looking around. “Salsa dancing with you. An actual date, no interruptions.”

Joaquín chuckles, the sound rich and low, as he pulls out my chair for me. “Well, I’m glad you’re excited. It’s my birthday, so tonight’s all about you and me. We can do whatever we want.”

I sit down—the excitement bubbling in my chest—and take in the atmosphere around me. The lights, the music, the people laughing and enjoying themselves—it’s perfect. I can feel a small weight lifting off my shoulders. I’m not worrying about Mireya tonight, not thinking about all the little things I need to do for school or work. Tonight, it’s just us.

Just Joaquín and me.

We order drinks—aguas frescas, of course—and I let the tart sweetness of the jamaica settle on my tongue. Joaquín sips his horchata and looks over at me, his expression soft.

“I can’t believe I’m twenty,” he says, his voice thoughtful. “It feels like I was just eighteen yesterday.”

I smile at the thought. I can remember when I turned eighteen—it was like crossing some invisible line into adulthood. But now, at almost twenty, I can look back and realize just how much of a transition that time was for me. Losing my mother, high school graduation, motherhood—all the changes I’ve gone through.

“You’re still so young,” I tease, reaching over to touch his hand. “Still plenty of time to figure out what you want to do with your life.”

He raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “I think I’ve got it figured out. Finish school, bust ass at work, take care of you and Mireya, and make sure we’re happy. That’s all I need.”

I squeeze his hand, my heart swelling at his words. “I’m glad you feel that way. You’ve been amazing to me, Joaquín. To both of us.”

We share a moment of quiet, comfortable affection, and it feels like everything is just right.

The band starts playing, a lively rhythm that makes my feet tap automatically. I glance at Joaquín, a grin on my face. “Do you know how to salsa?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Not at all. But I’m willing to try.”

“Good,” I say with a wink. “Because I’m dragging you onto the dance floor.”

We stand up and make our way toward the area where other couples are already dancing. The rhythm of the music fills me, and I feel the energy in my body. I’ve always loved dancing—salsa, cumbia, reggaeton, anything really—but dancing with Joaquín feels different. It feels like we’re learning each other’s body language, finding a new way to communicate without words.

He holds me close, his hands resting on my waist as I take his hand, guiding him into a basic step. He’s a little stiff at first, unsure of the rhythm, but he listens and follows. I can’t help but laugh as he tries to mirror my movements, but soon enough, he’s got it. The music, the closeness, the way he’s looking at me—it’s all so natural.

“You’re doing great!” I laugh, spinning in his arms.

“I’m just following your lead,” he replies, his grin wide and infectious. “But this is fun.”

The music shifts to something slower, a romantic ballad that takes the energy down a few notches, and we sway together under the stars. I can feel his heart beating against mine, the warmth of his body close to mine as we move slowly, lazily. For a moment, it’s just us. No one else in the world. No responsibilities, no doubts. Just the two of us here together, in this perfect moment.

“I’m really glad we’re doing this,” he says softly, his voice barely louder than the music.

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